Resident Evil 7 (The Fan Novelization)
by Kenny Rutter
Summary: SPOILERS ABOUND TO ANYONE WHO HAS NOT PLAYED THE GAME! Ethan Winters travels to a derelict Louisiana mansion in search of his missing wife, only to discover a terror beyond his imagination. With no other options, he must find a way to survive and escape from the murderous Baker clan while continuing his search for his wife.
1. One

ONE

 **THE FOLLOWING FAN NOVELIZATION OF THE RECENTLY RELEASED RESIDENT EVIL 7 MAY BE SPOILER HEAVY TO ANYONE WHO HAS NOT PLAYED AND/OR BEATEN THE GAME. ALSO, ALL VHS TAPES IN THE GAME HAVE BEEN CONVERTED INTO GOPROS FOR THE SAKE OF THE STORY, AND ANYTHING TAKING PLACE IN THE VIDEOS ARE TOLD IN THE THIRD PERSON AS OPPOSED TO THE FIRST PERSON. ENJOY!**

LISTEN TO MY STORY. I KNOW IT MAY SOUND CRAZY, I KNOW IT MAY SOUND…ludicrous, but I swear to whatever God is out there that what I'm about to tell you is the genuine, one hundred percent truth. And the truth, as we all know, is sometimes more fantastical, and in my case, more terrifying, than fiction.

My name is Ethan Winters, and by rights, I shouldn't even be alive right now. I should be dead several times over. I know, I know, that sounds like the words of a madman, but – look, here me out.

I guess you could say my story begins three years ago. That was when my wife, Mia, went missing and was declared dead, since no one had heard from her after she took on what she called a "babysitting job" for the company she worked for. I don't know much about that company; Mia never went into a whole lot of detail, and I never bothered questioning her further about it.

When Mia vanished, I had become, well, let's just say a broken mess. After all, you would be too if your wife of five years had just disappeared and was declared dead. I just basically shut down, refusing to talk to anyone or even go out, at least for some few months as I tried to cope with the news.

I began getting out, spending time with friends and looking for new work. Hell, I even considered dating again, but there was still a part of me that refused to let Mia go.

And so, this is where the real meat of my rather unorthodox story begins.

It began one night after getting home from work. My normal nightly routine was to get some dinner, check my email, watch some television, shower, and then go to bed. As I was checking my email, I came across something I hadn't expected to see.

No, it wasn't that email from Mia sent three years ago – the last time I heard anything from her – but I decided to watch that one again. Mia looked like she was on the deck of a boat on the ocean, a serene and quite beautiful scene.

"Hi Ethan! Me again! I just wanted to let you know that I'll be able to come home soon. Thank God, too, because I'm getting real tired of this lame babysitting job. That could be homesickness talking, but I can't help it. I miss you so much, Ethan. Let's just pretend I'm sending you a bunch of kisses, and you'll be getting real kisses when I get home. Bye, Ethan!"

I closed that file, and that was when I noticed another one from Mia, one I hadn't seen until now. Another video file, though I couldn't tell where this one was filmed; the area was dark, save for the light from the computer Mia was recording on. She looked…distraught.

She looked frightened.

"Ethan," she said; she sounded like she had been crying. The tears running down her face confirmed that one for me. "I'm sorry. You were right. There was something fishy about all this. I should have believed you. I'm sorry, Ethan. If you find this, just….Ethan, don't come looking for me! Stay away!"

That was the end of the video, but not the email itself; there was something else. An address for a place in Louisiana, some place called Dulvey.

Yes, Mia's video told me not to go looking for her, but how could I just ignore this? There was a chance that she was still alive, and that was a chance I had to take if I wanted to know the truth.

Of course, there were other things I needed to do first. These things included requesting some days off from work so I could go to Dulvey and see if Mia was there for myself. I also had to cancel plans with my friends and the girl I had been seeing.

One week later, I was on my way from Dallas, Texas, to Dulvey, Louisiana. According to Google Maps, it was at least an eight hour drive, so I figured I should get an early start. I left around seven in the morning, shortly after I had my breakfast, and began my fateful journey.

Of course, I had no idea how fateful – or how dangerous and terrifying – my trip to Louisiana would be.

It was the middle of the afternoon by the time I reached Louisiana, and a few hours later, I was nearing my destination. Dulvey was a small town, not much larger than the small town where I grew up.

My cell phone rang. It was my friend, Josh.

"Hey."

"What's up, man?" Josh asked. "You just took off."

"Sorry about that. Something came up. It's Mia. She's alive."

"What? How? How's that possible? It's been three years."

"I know, Josh. Look, I don't know how, but she's alive somewhere, and I'm going to find her. I'm just outside of a small town in Louisiana called Dulvey. That's where Mia is. I'm going to find her and bring her home."

"Ethan, she's gone, man. You're chasing a dream."

"Maybe. Maybe not. Look, I'm almost at the address I got in my email. I'll call you back if – when – I find Mia." I shut my phone off; I didn't need any distractions. I needed to stay focused.

I continued to drive down the small dirt road into the swamp. Even through my closed windows, I could smell the musk of the swamp – though that was probably because it was coming in through the vents, since I had the air conditioner on. I could also hear the mud get flung up onto my car.

A downed tree blocked my path, forcing me to bring the car to a stop. It was clear that I was on foot from this point, so I put the car in park, shut it off, and climbed out.

The mud squished beneath my shoes as I walked down the small path. The humidity – which was much worse than what I had ever felt in Texas – was making my shirt stick to my skin as I walked. I could already feel the sweat running down my forehead, but at the moment, I was more worried about the mosquitoes buzzing around me, hoping that none of them carried malaria or Zika Virus.

Off in the distance, I could see the roof of a large house. As I got closer, I could see just how large the house was. It was a sprawling mansion, the largest I had ever seen. The impressive size of the house was so mesmerizing that I almost ran into the iron gate blocking the path. I pulled at the gate, but it was locked thanks to the chain tied around it.

Wonderful, I thought. I looked up to the top of the gate; it was lined with barbed wire, so climbing the gate was out of the question. There had to be another way around. Mia was in that house, but unless I found a way around, there was no way I would know for sure.

There was a way around, another path that was just out of sight. I started walking, hoping it would lead me to the house. The house had looked abandoned, but for all I knew, maybe someone lived there. All I would do when I got up there was knock on the door, let the owners know why I was there, and if Mia was there, we would go home together. If she wasn't there, then I would be going home by myself, feeling like a fool and being just as heartbroken as I had been three years ago.

The mosquitoes were much worse here, as was the mud. I could feel the muddy water starting to soak through my shoes and into my socks, but I was too busy swatting at the annoying insects to worry about that.

A short distance down the path, there was a white van. On the ground was a blue tarp, which looked like it had been exposed to the elements for some time. Leaned against the engine block of the van was the tripod of a video camera. Maybe it belonged to a film crew?

The door to the van was ajar, enticing me to investigate. I slid the door open. There was no sign of anyone in the van, no sign it had been in use, save for the empty beer cans on the floor and the pamphlet on the seat. It was a pamphlet for that YouTube series _Sewer Gators_. I had never bothered watching it, but from what I had been told, it was pretty much an amateur version of _Ghost Adventures._ Josh was a fan, and he kept complaining about how they had just stopped uploading about a month or so ago, with no warning or anything.

It was pretty obvious that this was going to be their next investigation, but from the look of things, they had just left most of their gear – the tripod, the tarp, the empty coolers – and left, leaving no trace that they had ever been here.

I turned the pamphlet around, getting ready to open it, to see if there was a clue, when I spotted something written on the back of the pamphlet. Something written in what I hoped was red ink.

"Join us". That was what was written.

Nailed to a nearby tree was a plank, with a message written in the same red ink. "Accept her gift". Just what the hell was that supposed to mean?

Someone walked past. I ducked down into the weeds, watching as the man – I think it was a man, I couldn't tell from this distance – walked around the corner and out of sight. I couldn't explain it, but there was something about that man; something terrifying.

Something evil.

Maybe I was just being overly paranoid, but I decided to sit and wait a minute to see if the man came back this way. He didn't. I let out that breath I had been holding and slowly stepped out of the weeds, continuing my trek.

Maybe that man was the owner of the mansion. Maybe he knew where Mia was. But I wouldn't know for sure unless I asked him. In hindsight, I could have called out to him, but I couldn't shake this feeling. You know that feeling you get when you know that something's off about someone but you can't quite put your finger on it? That was how I was feeling right now, thinking about that man.

The path I was following came to a dead end, a drop off leading to a small clearing. In the clearing was a dead tree with a pile of burned trash at the base, just in front of another house, much smaller than the mansion I had seen earlier. Maybe it was a guest house. The only way to be sure was to go down there and investigate.

I hopped down from the ledge and made my way over to the house, past the old swinging bench and onto the porch. The door was wide open, almost inviting me in.

But I couldn't just walk right in. I knocked on the door frame. "Hello!" I called into the house. "I'm sorry to disturb you, but I think my wife may be here. Is it okay if I look around?" There was no answer, save for the wind blowing through the old boards.

My stomach tightened into a knot as I stood at the door, looking into the darkness of the old house. I had no idea who, or what, could have been waiting for me in there.

But something was telling me that Mia was in here, somewhere, just waiting for me to find her. So I slowly, hesitantly, with my stomach tightened into a knot, stepped through the threshold. Until I found Mia, that was the point of no return.

The change in the atmosphere was almost instantaneous. While it was warm and humid outside, the inside of the house was cold and damp. I felt a chill run up and down my spine.

I jumped and let out a small yell as the door slammed shut behind me. I grabbed the handle; it barely turned. The door was locked.

It really was the point of no return.

You know that feeling you get when you feel like you've just walked into something you may not be able to walk out of? Well, that didn't matter; I had made up my mind that, one way or another, I wasn't leaving here without my wife.

This small entry room – I guess you could call it a mud room – was filled with bags, several bags. Trash bags, perhaps? There was also a wardrobe, its doors falling off its hinges.

Passing through the only other door I could, I found myself in a narrow hallway leading into a kitchen. A pot was on the table, and there were more trash bags on the floor, some piled next to the two cupboards in the room. Water dripped from the broken faucet, and the microwave door was hanging limply open, showing me the dead, roasted crow on the inside.

It was sick, yes, but not enough to make me feel like I was going to purge my insides.

The contents in the pot, on the other hand, looked like vomit itself, a broth filled with what looked like roasted…I couldn't even tell what half of that stuff was. Some of the contents looked like intestines, which - combined with the smell of old, moldy pork - made the bile in my throat rise up.

I backed away, putting a hand over my mouth and swallowed, trying to keep the contents of my stomach where they belonged, and walked around the table, trying to forget about what I had just seen.

My eyes caught sight of the newspaper on the table. It was dated just a few months ago. On the front page was a picture of the mansion I had seen earlier, and written above it was a headline from the paper, titled _The Dulvey Times._

"Over 20 Missing in Two Years. Police Baffled. Foul Play Suspected".

Foul play? Twenty missing? What could this all mean?

And just what the hell was this place?

I left the room, stepping over some more trash bags and around the corner. I was in yet another hallway, this one leading to a door at the very end. The one door on the right was shut, but the cubby hole under the stairs leading to the attic was open, and it was empty.

I climbed the stairs to the attic. There was a button on one of the pillars, labeled "STAIRS". I pressed the button, curious.

Nothing happened; there probably wasn't any power.

On the table next to the pillar was a small video camera, like a GoPro. I picked it up and examined it. There had to be a way to see its contents; maybe it belonged to that film crew. I looked it over, trying to find a playback function.

Thank God that the camera still had some power. I turned it over, finding the playback function after a moment of fiddling with it. By holding the record button, I found the video archive.

There was only one video archived. It was dated one month ago.

Part of me didn't want to see what was on that video. But another part of me was far too curious. Mia always told me that I could be too curious for my own good. Maybe she was right. But I had to see what had happened to these guys. Maybe there was some kind of clue about where Mia was.

I pressed the Play button.

#########################################

Clancy fiddled with the GoPro Andre had given him, trying to turn on the night vision setting. He had recently been brought on as a camera man for the YouTube ghost hunting series _Sewer Gators_ , after the last guy quit because he had gotten unnerved after going to so many supposedly haunted locations.

Andre was just one of the other two guys in the crew, the other being a guy named Pete, who already gave Clancy a bad first impression. The man seemed to have this sort of stick-in-the-mud personality, thinking himself on a higher level than everyone else. Then again, he himself chose Clancy for this job, and took them out for pizza after they filmed the previous episode – where they investigated the infamous Eastern State Penitentiary in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania – so maybe he couldn't have been so bad.

"Alright, Andre, what do we got here?" Pete asked as the three of them walked up to the porch of the small guest house. "Spooky house? Weird sounds?"

"Abandoned farm house, foul play suspected," Andre answered. "Usual shtick."

"Just like that bullshit fiasco in Amarillo that turned out to be an old haunted attraction," Pete grumbled. "Please tell me this won't end up like that. Tell you what, we'll do an initial walkthrough before we start filming. Maybe parts of that walkthrough can get edited into the episode itself."

"Start by saying the name of the show and maybe it'll be better than before," Andre snarked.

Pete turned to face the two of them. "Yeah, I'll say the name of the show," he said. He put his flashlight under his face, like Clancy did when he was a kid around the campfire. "Tonight on _Sewer Gators,_ another worthless fucking shithole. And this place certainly smells like shit. Happy?"

"Ecstatic."

"I've got to agree with Pete on one thing, though," Clancy said, finally speaking up. "This place does stink."

"It's a god damn swamp, Clancy," Pete said. "What the hell were you expecting? The place to smell like roses?"

The three of them walked up to the door. Pete grabbed the handle and tried to turn it; no luck. "Fuck. It's locked."

"Step aside," Andre said, stepping up to the door. He raised his leg and kicked the door at the handle, breaking the lock and making the door swing open. "You learn a few skills as an urban explorer." Pete brushed past him and stepped into the house. "After you, then."

Clancy followed Andre into the house. "Christ," Clancy hissed. "It's cold in here. I thought Louisiana was supposed to be hot!"

"Just be glad we don't have mosquitoes biting at our necks," Pete said from up ahead. "Mosquitoes, prisons, old houses, swamps….Fuck me, I was an anchor, you know."

"A weekend sub isn't the same thing as a news anchor," Andre corrected him.

"Say that again and you'll be shitting out your own teeth," Pete growled. "I actually ended up subbing a few times, so it counts." They stepped into a kitchen. "Now, Andre, you did the research. What's the story this time? Hillbilly Joe and his family go missing?"

"The Bakers," Andre corrected Pete. "Jack and Marguritte Baker. And they were quiet, not backward hillbillies. A lot of bad rumors about their son, Lucas. Bad seed, they say."

"Maybe Mommy and Daddy didn't raise him right," Pete jeered.

"Or maybe he just went nuts," Clancy guessed.

"Living in this backwater shithole, I'd go nuts too," Pete said. He stepped up to a small framed picture on the wall. "Hey, this might make a good backdrop." He turned to face Clancy. "What do you think?"

"That actually looks pretty good," Clancy admitted. He was just going off of his own line of sight; the GoPro was strapped to his head, so he couldn't look through the viewfinder.

"Hey Andre, what do you think?" Pete asked. Andre gave no answer; he wasn't in the room. "Andre! Clancy, you see where Andre went?"

"No I didn't," Clancy said, though that wasn't the first thing that he had thought of saying. _Do I look like his fucking babysitter?_

"Christ, man, we have rules," Pete said as the two of them stepped out of the kitchen and into the small hallway. "And the first rule is to never go anywhere alone."

"Maybe he had to go to the bathroom?" Clancy guessed.

"Then he still should have said something," Pete replied. "You know, say 'Hey guys, I'm gonna go take a shit' or something like that. Instead, bastard just up and vanishes on us. I mean, seriously, what the hell?"

They came to a stop next to the door at the far end of the hall. It was locked, probably from the other side. The only other door – which was thankfully unlocked – led into a small living room, filled with two chairs, a television, and a fireplace.

"Andre!" Clancy called. "You in here, man?"

"This isn't fucking funny, you dickhead," Pete growled.

The two of them searched the room, finding no sign of Andre. All they found were some old newspapers, broken VHS tapes, photographs of a rather good looking woman, and the damper lever in the fireplace.

Pete felt compelled t pull the lever; maybe the sound of the dampener opening would bring Andre out to investigate.

Neither Pete nor Clancy had expected a panel in the wall to open up, leading to another small hallway. "The hell is that?" Pete asked.

"This is some _Scooby-Doo_ shit right here," Clancy said. "Andre!" He crawled through the panel and into the hall. "Andre! Are you in here?"

Pete followed Clancy into the hallway. There was still no sign of Andre, just some old bricks and a hole in the floor, with a ladder leading down into the basement.

"You think he's down there?" Clancy asked.

"Maybe he's just fooling around down there," Pete guessed. Clancy could hear the fear in his voice, the same fear he knew he was also feeling. "Hey, uh, you go down first. Get a shot of me coming down the ladder. Might make a good shot for the video, you know?"

"I can't believe you're still thinking about this damn show," Clancy said as he started to descend the ladder.

"I'm just trying to think about anything else right now, okay? Look, we find Andre and we get out. I mean, fuck this show!"

Clancy descended the ladder, his feet soon touching the soft, wet floor. It was so dark down here, darker than the rest of the house. He had to wait a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, and even then, he could still just barely see more than a foot in front of him.

He walked slowly, stepping around a brick pillar –

And coming across Andre, standing in the corner.

"Andre!" Clancy sighed. "Thank God, man, you gave us a scare for a minute." Andre said nothing; he just stood there, facing the wall. "Andre? Are you okay, buddy?"

Clancy put a hand on Andre's shoulder and turned him around.

There was a sick squishing sound as the metal pipe that had been jammed through Andre's face came loose. Clancy fell back, screaming, Andre's dead body collapsing on top of him, blood oozing from his eyes and nose and mouth and the hole made from the pipe.

Someone was approaching. The only thing Clancy could do was scream.


	2. Two

TWO

I SLOWLY PUT THE CAMERA BACK ON THE TABLE AND STEPPED AWAY, NOT SURE what I had just witnessed. What – what had happened to those three? It was obvious that the guy named Andre was dead, but Clancy and Pete? I had no idea, and I was pretty sure I didn't want to find out. The last image on that video was a pair of legs approaching, and I didn't want to end up finding out who that person was.

All I wanted was to find Mia and get the hell out of here, but as far as I could tell, the only way to do that was to follow the footsteps of the film crew.

I made my way back down the stairs. They creaked as I went, making my skin crawl; I couldn't help it – this house was creepy, and I think it was starting to get to me. That video certainly didn't help matters.

The door at the end of the hall was still locked from the other side; there was no lock on this side of the door, just a keyhole. But the door that led to the living room was still unlocked. The only light in this room came from the television; its screen was full of static, but it was just barely enough light to see the chairs in front of me. I examined the chairs, and as I had expected, the pictures one of the film crew had seen were still there. The woman in one of the pictures looked like Mia, but I couldn't tell for sure; the pictures were weathered and the colors were washed out. I could make out what looked like a small room blocked with a steel barred door, and what looked like the man I had spotted in the woods earlier.

I checked the damper lever in the fireplace. Nothing happened when I pulled it, though that could be, as I found out, because the panel in the wall was still open; I guess no one bothered to close it after the last time. Slowly, I crawled through the panel and into the small hallway. I could already feel my stomach fall and my heart start to race, knowing that something was waiting for me down that hole.

The same fate that had befallen the film crew was waiting for me in the darkness below.

I know what you must be thinking right now – "Ethan, just turn around and leave." And I would be compelled to agree with you. But remember, the door I came through was locked, and Mia was waiting for me. Even if that door was still open, I had made up my mind not to leave without my wife.

That didn't stop the fear from welling up inside me. But I had to press on.

Slowly, I began to descend the ladder. The rungs creaked beneath my feet. I tried to pace myself so I didn't miss a step, but at the same time, I didn't want the rungs to break from underneath me.

Too bad for me, that's exactly what happened. The rungs gave way. I tried to hold on to the rung I was grasping, but that one broke too, and I fell into the darkness of the basement, landing hard on my back.

The air was knocked out of my lungs. I struggled for a minute to try to breathe from the impact; for being soft and wet, that landing was surprisingly painful. The pain racked my body as I struggled to sit up.

I finally managed, after a moment, to sit up and slowly climb to my feet. The basement was surprisingly not as dark as I had expected, thanks to the light coming from the small corridor around the corner. I went slow, walking around the brick pillar, watching the floor. There was no sign that anyone had been lying there, no sign that anyone had been down here, save for what looked like dried blood on the pipe sticking out of the wall.

The corridor turned to the left. The roof, what I figured was part of the upper floor, was dipped low, hanging just a foot above the pool of green water. I slowly stepped towards the water, the stagnant liquid lapping up against my shoes.

I hate water. Yeah, I drink it, yeah, I bathe in it, but I didn't even like going into a swimming pool if I could avoid it. And given that I couldn't see anything in this water, I had no idea how deep it was. It could have been a few inches, or a few feet, but unfortunately for me, the only way to find out was to actually step into the water.

It was so cold! Then again, I'm not sure what I was supposed to expect. I could feel the cold liquid seep into my clothes, soaking my skin as I slowly made my way under the low roof. Surprisingly, my feet were still on solid ground, so to speak. I struggled to keep my head above the water, trying to breathe as I slowly walked, following the corridor to the right.

The water started to bubble and ripple, and I knew that it wasn't because of me.

Something was coming out of the water.

A second later, I was face-to-face with a bloated, rotted corpse.

I fell back, screaming as the water flowed into my nose and mouth. It made me want to gag, both the water and the disgusting dead body in front of me.

Scratch that – not only did it make me gag, it made me purge my insides into the water. My gastric juices mixed with the water and the slime from the body, which made me want to vomit again, but this time, I managed to hold it in.

I tried to breathe through my mouth so I didn't have to worry about the foul, water-logged smell of the corpse. Even so, I couldn't help but examine it, noticing the hole in the body's face, between the mouth and the nose.

This was Andre, one of the men from the film crew!

Part of me felt sorry for the state he was in, being a shadow of his former self, but at the same time, I didn't know him, so why bother mourning a stranger? I made my way past his corpse, trying not to touch it or look at it anymore.

I finally exited the water and took a moment to try and dry off, wringing out my shirt. I even took off my shoes to empty them of the water and wrung out my socks and the hems of my pant legs.

As I put my socks and shoes back on, I couldn't help but look back at what was left of Andre, hoping that Mia hadn't met a similar fate.

Ignoring the chill I was getting thanks to the water still on my skin starting to evaporate, I checked the door in front of me. It swung open.

The door led me into another part of the basement, this one filled with more trash bags, a lawnmower –

And the room I had seen in the photographs in the living room upstairs. A figure was lying on the bed in the small room.

Could it have been Mia?

The only way I could be certain was to get into the room, but the door was chained shut. Wonderful. The only way I was going to get into that room was if I found a key to that chain.

Or, I could just use that convenient set of bolt cutters that just happened to be on the nearby table.

The bolt cutters made short work of the chain. It clattered to the floor, surprisingly not rousing the figure on the bed. I dropped the bolt cutters and pushed the door open, rushing into the room, and as I got closer, I recognized the figure on the bed.

It was my wife.

It was Mia.

I gently shook her shoulder. "Mia."

Mia turned to me, her eyes slowly opening. She quickly sat up, throwing her arms around me in a light hug. I hugged her back, relieved to have finally found her.

"I'm so glad you're alive," I said as we released each other.

"But Ethan, what are you doing here?" she asked.

"What do you mean? You told me to come here."

Mia shook her head. "No. No, I didn't. At least, I don't think I did. Did I?"

I put my hands on her shoulders. "Look, that doesn't matter. I found you. You're alive. And I'm going to get you home."

Mia stood up from the bed and grabbed my hand. "Then we'd better get going before Daddy comes."

Mia pulled me out of the room as I tried to ask her just what the hell she was talking about. "Daddy? Who –"

"There's not much time," Mia said. She led me away from the room and down another corridor, past an old lawnmower.

I grabbed her arm, stopping her. "Mia, what are you talking about? What's going on here?"

"You shouldn't have come," she said.

"You sent me that message," I told her. "You gave me this address last week."

"That wasn't me!"

"Try to remember, Mia."

"I can't!"

"Then try harder! If you didn't sent that message, then who did? That was you in that video. Do you mean to tell me that you didn't send me that video message?"

Mia shook her head again. "I'm sorry, Ethan, but I don't remember. Maybe….Maybe I will in a bit, but right now, I just want to get out of here." She led me to another hallway, this one partially blocked by a shelf. "I know where we are. The family used to bring me food through here."

Family? Daddy? I had no idea what Mia was talking about, and I wasn't sure if she was going to give me an answer, or at least not a straight answer.

I followed Mia, squeezing between the shelf and the wall until I reached the other side. We walked, our footsteps echoing off of the brick and stone walls, until we reached a small room. The walls, save for one that had a door leading to a small storage area, were boarded up. There was a small stand with a lamp on it in one corner, right next to a sofa.

Mia began frantically searching the wall. "There was a door here. There was another door here! Damn it! Where's the door?"

I grabbed Mia by the shoulders and sat her down on the sofa. "Mia, it's okay. Sit down. Take a breather. I'm sure there's a way out of here. I'll search the other room, okay?" Mia gave no answer; just nodded her head.

I stepped into the small storage area. In the center of the room was a shelf with nothing of use, save for maybe a hammer and some nails, but then again, what could I do with those? The only other things of note in this room were two porcelain dolls. Sure, I could throw those at the wall and make a hole; right, that would really work.

Mia screamed. I ran back to the other room, hammer in hand, ready to use it if I had to.

There was no sign of Mia, just a hole in the wall that hadn't been there before – the door she had been talking about, no doubt. Hammer raised, I walked through the new doorway.

"Mia?"

No Mia, just some stairs leading to another door. I slowly climbed the stairs, the wooden boards creaking beneath my still damp shoes as I made my way to the door which, thankfully, was unlocked. The door led me to another hallway, adorned with some torn curtains, a few stands, a single phone, and some broken windows covered with lines of barbed wire.

As I looked out the window, I noticed something that didn't make sense. It was dark outside, and it was raining. That couldn't have been right; it was the middle of the afternoon when I entered the house, so how could it now be night?

That was just one of the many questions going through my head right now, along with just where the hell Mia had vanished to.

I couldn't go back downstairs; Mia wasn't down there, she couldn't have been. I walked down the hall, checking the door on my right. Or I would have, had it not been nailed shut. I tried to pry one of the nails off with the hammer, but the nails were in too deep; I couldn't get to them. The door on my right led to a bathroom – nothing of significance there – and the door at the far end was locked. It looked like the door I had seen earlier, but there wasn't a lock on this side. Why?

I heard the sound of something knocking against one of the doors. It wasn't this door, nor was it the one that was nailed shut, nor was it the bathroom.

That just left the door to the basement. Maybe Mia really was still down there and trying to call out to me.

I slowly opened the door and started to climb down the stairs. "Mia? Is that you?"

The stairs creaked, but not from me – I had stopped walking. Someone, or something, was coming up the stairs.

It was Mia, crawling on her hands and knees, her face lowered, her hair drooping over her face.

"Mia?"

Mia was suddenly in front of me, snarling like an animal. Her once beautiful face was now pale and covered with popping veins, and her eyes were narrowed in rage. I let out a startled yell, which turned into a cry of pain as she hurled me through the door. My back slammed against the wall.

I tried to stand up, but Mia came at me, a sharp knife in her hand. She snarled as she leaped at me, knife ready to plunge into my flesh.

Instinctively, I put my hand up, but that only resulted in the knife piercing my hand, completely skewering it.

I howled in agony as the blade penetrated my skin and muscle and bone, grunted as she pulled it out. Mia grabbed me by the shirt and threw me down the hall. I landed, hard, recovering just in time to see Mia coming at me again. I grabbed the knife with both hands, the blade slicing into my fingers as I tried to hold her back.

The entire time, Mia continued to let out that animalistic snarl.

At least, she did, until she pulled the knife away, cutting into my fingers even more. Her face regained its color, and the veins disappeared. She dropped the knife at her feet. Her shoulders drooped.

"Ethan, I – I'm sorry."

"Mia, what – what the fuck was that?"

Mia gave no answer; instead, she started slamming her head against the wall. "Mia! What the hell are you doing?"

"She's trying to work her way back inside," Mia said. She slammed her head against the wall again, splattering blood against the wood. "I've been bad," she moaned. "I deserve this." Once more, she slammed her head against the wall, before collapsing to the floor.

I sat where I was, ignoring the stinging pain in my hands as I stared at Mia. Just what the fuck was she? She was not the loving woman I had married. Something – something had changed her, turned her into whatever the hell it was I had just seen.

That was not something I had expected to see, to say the least.

I climbed to my feet and examined my hands. The blood looked like it was starting to dry up. That…should not have been happening. Especially not with that hole where Mia had stabbed me; I should have been going into shock by now from the pain alone. And by rights, my fingers probably should have been sliced off entirely, and yet, here my hands were, somehow no longer bleeding, somehow with the fingers still attached.

Not that I'm complaining about that, mind you.

I walked over to Mia. Was she….Was she really dead?

I reached out to check her pulse.

I let out a yelp of surprise as Mia suddenly sprung up. She didn't stand up; it was almost like she was a puppet on strings, pulled off the floor, her hand grabbing my fingers and hurling me through the nailed up door. I felt nails and wood splinters go into my back as I hit the floor –

Right next to a convenient hatchet.

I grabbed the hatchet and quickly climbed to my feet, just as Mia pulled a sharp piece of wood from what was left of the door frame. She snarled, contorting her still-pale face in that angry growl before she charged. I put up my arms, stopping her before she could stab me again. With my free hand, the one holding the axe, I raised it, and swung as hard as I could –

Digging the blade deep into the base of Mia's neck.

Mia's skin returned to its normal color as she collapsed. I reached out for her, but she hit the floor before I could grab her. The light in her eyes seemed to fade as she let out her last breath. I dropped the hatchet, falling to my knees next to her. My breath came in short bursts as the tears rolled down my face. What had I done, WHAT HAD I DONE?!

I had just killed my wife, that was what. The woman I had come to find was dead, and it was all because of me, all because I had to defend myself from whatever had overcome her.

I was alerted to the sound of the phone ringing. For a moment, I felt I should ignore it; after all, who would bother calling? And besides, I had just murdered my own wife; why would I want to talk to anyone?

Leaving Mia where she was, I stood up and walked – limped – back out to the hallway and over to the phone. It continued to ring; I stood over it, my hand hovering over the receiver, wondering if I should answer. The ringing just would not stop.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of debating with myself, I answered the phone.

"H – hello?"

"There's a way out through the attic," a woman's voice replied. "I've already set the fuse, so the stairs should work now."

"Wait a minute, who is this?" I asked.

The line went dead. Slowly, I put the phone back on its holder.

The attic….That was where I had found that camera. Or at least, that was in the room below the attic, anyway. And that woman had said that she'd set the fuse, so maybe that was why the stairs weren't working before? Whatever; it was a way out, and sadly, I would be leaving without Mia.

No. No, I had come for her, and one way or another, I was not going to leave without her, even if it was just her body. There was a chance I may face some prison time for murder, even if it was in self-defense, but at least I would be able to rest easy.

I turned into the room, but Mia's body wasn't there. She was gone.

How? When? It didn't make sense! A dead body didn't just get up and walk away, and even so, don't you think I would have heard her get up and leave? How could she just be gone? After a hit like that, an axe to the subclavian vein, she should not have been able to move for more than a minute before succumbing to death, and Mia was dead before she hit the floor!

I walked to the end of the hall. The door that had been locked; it was now open. Had Mia done this when I wasn't looking?

I was starting to become real paranoid right about now. Everything that had happened since I arrived; it didn't make any sense, and was making less and less sense as time went on. And I was getting the feeling that I wasn't done with this house. I went back into the other room and picked up the hatchet; its blade was still wet with Mia's blood. I was sure that I would need something to help defend myself, just in case.

Slowly, I made my way back to the door and gently pushed it open, the axe leading the way. The hall was still empty, still devoid of life – unless you want to count the cockroaches. I walked past the door to the living room, past the small cupboard beneath the stairs –

And leaped back in shock as Mia, alive and well, stepped out in front of me!

"Shit!"

"Ethan, it's okay, it's me."

"Mia, what – how – I mean –" All I could do was stutter; just how the fuck was she alive?!

"It's okay, Ethan," she said. "I know you didn't mean to hurt me."

I opened my mouth to say something, but was interrupted by Mia snarling again, her skin once again going pale as she slammed me against the wall. "But you shouldn't have done that!" she howled. "It fucking hurt!" She took a screwdriver out of her pocket and stabbed me in the hand, the same hand where she had stabbed me earlier, pretty much nailing me to the wall. With a snarl, she turned the corner leading to the stairs.

My blood ran cold when I heard the sound of a chainsaw revving up. Mia came back, chainsaw in hand. I grabbed at the screwdriver and pulled it out of my hand – not an easy task when the first inch or so of the tool is embedded in the wooden wall, along with my own flesh – just as Mia raised the chainsaw.

The only thing I could do to hope to stop her was raise my arm as Mia brought the chainsaw down.

I cried out – no, I screamed and howled – in agony as my hand was separated from my arm!

Mia turned and walked away again, snarling and growling, leaving me on the floor, writing in pain as I tried to stop the blood from pouring out of the stump left behind by my severed hand. I applied as much pressure as I could, the blood seeping through my fingers. The pain was unbearable; my nerve endings were completely severed, and the arteries and veins just would not stop leaking.

And yet, I was still awake and alive somehow. By this point, I should have passed out from the blood loss, and yet it seemed like my wounds were closing up, just as they had before. Once again, I was left completely stupefied; what the fuck was happening?

Slowly, I stood up, using my still attached hand to support myself as I climbed to my feet. I looked down at my hand; just what the hell was I supposed to do now? I couldn't carry it with me; it wasn't like I could just stick it in my back pocket. I had no choice but to leave it behind.

I climbed the stairs, finding the stairs leading to the attic already lowered. Well, I thought, can't look a gift horse in the mouth. The wooden stairs creaked and groaned as I climbed them, ascending into the darkness. That woman on the phone had said that there was a way out up here, but unless I found a door or a window or something – assuming it wasn't boarded up – I wasn't going anywhere.

And just who had so many storage rooms in an attic? So many things that made little or no sense. Though I did find something better than an axe in one of the rooms. It was a handgun, a 9mm pistol, with a loaded clip. I had barely ever held a gun in my life, but at the moment, I supposed it would do. You know, just in case. How effective it would be with just one hand, I had no idea, but hopefully I wouldn't have to use it.

Then again, Mia was still out there, still wielding that chainsaw, and I didn't feel like parting with my other hand.

There, in the corner, was a window, a ladder leaned against the wall beneath it. Tucking the gun into my belt as best as I could, I began to climb the ladder one rung at a time. The window, the key to my escape, was just a few feet away.

The blade of the chainsaw broke through the window, making me fall to the floor below in surprise. Mia stepped through what was left of the window and leaped to the floor. I rolled out of the way before she landed. She turned to me and snarled.

I reached into my belt and pulled out the gun; aimed; pulled the trigger.

The trigger refused to budge. I tried again; still nothing.

I realized that I had put the safety on before putting the gun in my belt; I hadn't wanted to risk shooting myself in the ass.

I quickly flipped the safety off and aimed at her chest, pulling the trigger.

Mia staggered back as the bullet hit her square in the chest, penetrating her heart. She snarled, probably more in annoyance than anger. With one more angry snarl, she raised the chainsaw and prepared to charge.

I pulled the trigger again, putting a bullet in her head.

Mia's skin returned to its normal color tone. She dropped the chainsaw and fell to her knees.

"Ethan," she whispered. "I love you."

She collapsed to the floor, blood pouring out of her bullet wounds. I let the gun fall from my hands and crawled over to her, checking for a pulse.

There was no pulse.

Mia was gone.

Maybe this time, it would be permanent.

I closed Mia's eyes. She was dead, but I didn't want to leave her here in this dump. I was going to get her home, somehow.

I stood up, thinking about how I was going to accomplish that.

"Welcome to the family, son."

I turned around, just in time to see a man, an older, balding, bespectacled man, pull his arm back. His fist connected with my face.

Everything went dark.


	3. Three

THREE

"RISE AND SHINE, SLEEPYHEAD."

My eyes slowly fluttered open. My entire face was numb from the hit. As I blinked my eyes, trying to get my bearings – my vision was so blurry I could just make out four fuzzy shapes – I had brief flashes of memory. I remembered being knocked out by that man in the attic, just after I'd shot Mia dead; I remembered being drug through the mud; I remembered….I remembered nothing after that.

My left hand felt numb. Wait, I could feel my left hand?

I looked down at my hand; my vision was just starting to clear. It had been reattached, using the largest staples I'd ever seen. I could feel the blood flowing through the veins and arteries, and I could feel the nerve endings detecting the sensations of the chair I was strapped down to, the ropes almost digging into my skin. I flexed my fingers; as surreal as not having my hand felt, having it put back in such a crude manner, with my blood vessels and nerves attached again, felt even more surreal.

I looked up when I heard a woman's voice, the same woman who had just spoken a second ago.

"It's time for supper."

My vision was clear enough now for me to see that I was in a dining room, sitting at a table with four other people. Directly across from me was the man who had attacked me in the attic, the same man I had seen in the forest earlier; to his right, my left, was a young man, maybe a year or so older than me – maybe younger, it was hard to tell with that blue hoodie he was wearing – chucking bits of meat at me; directly to my right was a woman, about the same age as the man in front of me – I guessed he was the young man's father and she was the mother – grinning at me; her hair was messy, and her blouse looked like it had once been pristine white, but was now weathered and yellowed; and directly to my left was an elderly woman, confined to a wheelchair, her head cocked to one side, her eyes closed.

I moved my head as far to the left as I could, avoiding another chuck of meat thrown from the young man.

"Who are you people?" I asked. "Where am I?"

The woman on my right waved a hand over the table, where I now saw the spread that had been laid out. "I made you a special feast," she said as I looked down at the meat on the table. The meat was gray in color, with flies buzzing over it. It was twisted upon itself, like sausages or intestines; I dreaded to think that this was what was left of the film crew I had seen on the video camera, and yet, that thought made its way into my mind as I looked down at the disgusting meat. The foul stench of molded meat wafted up into my nose, and I had to fight down the urge to vomit.

The woman took a bite of the meat; chewed; swallowed. "Eat it," she urged. She almost sounded motherly, were it not for how ragged she looked. "It's good."

"Dumb son of a bitch wouldn't know good if it bit him in the ass," the young man said. He picked up his plate; I barely managed to move my head to the side, dodging the plate as it was thrown at me. He reached for his father's plate. I tensed up, wondering if I would be able to dodge this one.

I watched, wide-eyed and shocked, as the older man grabbed his son's arm and, in one swift motion, cut his hand off with a large butcher's knife!

I gasped as the young man fell back into his seat, gazing almost nonchalantly at his severed limb. "Damn it old man, not again," he groaned in annoyance.

Again? This had happened before?

I looked down at my own hand, at the staples holding it to my arm. How could he be so casual about losing a fucking hand?

The older man stood up and walked around the table, coming towards me, knife in hand. "Look out, Marguerite." Marguerite slid her chair closer to the table as the older man leaned down, his face close to mine. I could now see his wire-rimmed glasses and balding hair. He picked up a piece of meat, holding it in front of me. "Come on, son. It tastes just like pork." He tried to force the disgusting piece of meat into my mouth.

There was no way I was going to eat what could possibly have been another human being. I spit the meat out the second it touched my tongue.

The woman leaped up from her seat. "He's not eating it, Jack!" she screamed.

"No shit."

"I made that just for him!"

"Just get out, Marguerite. Me and Lucas need to have a talk with this boy." I watched her leave, passing through the double doors on my left. I also noticed that, this entire time, the old woman had neither done nor said anything.

Jack grabbed me by the hair and turned me to face him; he was holding another piece of meat in his hands. He was looking at me with a sort of ferocity I had never seen before. He no longer looked human; he looked like an animal.

"This was supposed to be a special feast," he growled. He dropped the meat, replacing it with the knife. The blade was so close I could see the serrations; the steel was so close I could feel how cold it was. I cringed, anticipating the blade to pierce my skin, my skull, as Jack pulled his arm back and prepared to perform the deed –

Jack and Lucas turned to the sound of a phone ringing. Jack relaxed his arm, the knife touching the table. "God damn it," Lucas grumbled. "I bet it's that fucking pig again."

Jack put the knife on the table, the blade sticking into the wood. "Don't you go anywhere, boy."

I watched as Jack and Lucas left the room through the same double doors Marguerite had gone through, leaving me alone with the elderly woman. I let out a sigh of relief; I had just literally been saved by the bell.

But now I had another problem; I was still tied to the chair, my wrists and ankles attached to the arms and legs by these ropes. I rocked back and forth, left and right, the chair finally falling to the floor. One of the arms snapped, freeing my hand. I undid the ropes holding my other wrist and my ankles, and climbed to my feet.

The woman remained where she was, unmoving, her eyes still closed. I walked around her, stepping up to the double doors, and slowly turned the knob, pushing the door open. I scanned the hallway, spying a destroyed staircase leading to the second floor. There was a stairwell leading downstairs, either to a basement or a garage. After about thirty feet, the hall turned to the right; I had no idea what was waiting for me around that corner.

Slowly, I left the dining room and quietly closed the door behind me. Turning around, I saw myself facing a wall with a single window, boarded up and covered with barbed wire. So escaping out that way was out of the question, but I was certain I would still find a way out through the downstairs area.

The stairs led down to a garage. The metal shutter was closed and the switch to open it had to be in that metal box on the wall. But there was a problem – the box was taped up, and there was no way I could see to remove that tape.

Disheartened, I went back up to the main floor. Maybe there was another way out down the hall?

I turned to the right –

There was Jack, looking out the window, a metal spade shovel in his hand.

I nearly froze in terror. It was just a matter of seconds before he spotted me standing here. Not wanting that to happen, I turned around, spotting the metal door marked "Laundry". I grabbed the handle; turned it.

The door was locked.

"There you are," Jack said from down the hall. "Thought you could get out of eating supper that easily, did you?"

Shit. That was the only word going through my head at that moment. I turned to the left and hurried down the hall, throwing open the door on my left, the door to the kitchen, and ducked down into the pantry just past the refrigerator. Holding my breath, I wedged myself between the wall and a cabinet, hoping Jack wouldn't come in here.

And then I noticed the open floor hatch. Releasing my breath, I hurried to the hatch, leaping into the hole, and pulled the lid shut, latching it.

Not even a second later, I heard Jack's footsteps in the pantry. I quickly backed away from the hatch; I was sure that if Jack looked down, he'd see me through the holes in the boards.

Once I was sure I was out of his line of sight, I turned and took in my new surroundings. It looked like a little crawlspace, or a storage area. There were bags of fertilizer on the rusted shelves lining the walls, an old weed eater leaning against the wall. Just around the corner turning to the left, I saw a riding lawn mower, an empty gas can on the seat.

I walked past the lawnmower, ending up with a mouthful of cobwebs. I sputtered and spat, trying to get the disgusting thing out of my face and mouth, pulling it away.

With the cobwebs finally out of my face, I continued walking, making sure that there were no more cobwebs to brush into. The basement, if it could even be called that, ended with another hole that, as I discovered when I climbed out, led into the laundry room.

The first thing I noticed was the smell of mildew. That could probably be attributed to the old socks hanging above the broken dryer machine, or maybe the damp blankets in the washing machine; either way, it was horrible. A phone, like the one I had seen in the guest house, was on one of the tables; it looked like it had just been use – no doubt Jack or Lucas had used it when talking to whoever had called. Wait a minute, didn't Lucas say it was probably a cop?

I picked up the phone and dialed 911. Nothing but a dial tone.

Well, shit. So much for that idea.

I put the phone back on the holder and took in the rest of my surroundings. Other than the washer and dryer in the room, the only other thing I could see was a shelf filled with detergent.

The phone rang. I nearly jumped out of my skin; it had startled me so much. Slowly, I picked it up and put it to my ear.

"Hello?"

"Nice to see you got away from my family for now," a voice said. It was the same woman who had called before!

"You've got one fucked up family, whoever the hell you are."

"My name's Zoe Baker. Now listen, I might be able to help you get out, but surviving is all up to you. You're welcome, by the way. The hand, I mean." I looked down at my hand, at the staples holding it to my arm, and then I notice something I hadn't seen before. It looked like a watch, small and black with a square digital face. "And that thing on your wrist is a codex. It monitors your heart rate, and I've programmed a map of the house and the surrounding areas into it. Don't lose it; it's important if you want to get out alive."

"Okay, fine, Zoe," I said. "So, are you watching me through this thing?"

"In a sense," Zoe answered. "Don't worry about where I am right now; all you need to worry about is surviving. Now, there should be a way out through the main hall, though you'll need three keys. I don't know where they are; the family hid them from me, so you'll have to look for them on your own. Good luck, Ethan." The line went dead.

I put the phone back on the holder. Hell of a girl, this Zoe Baker. But she seemed like she genuinely wanted to help me get out of whatever hell I was in, and that was enough for me.

I unlocked the door and slowly pulled it open, scanning the hallway. There was no sign of Jack, or anyone – not Lucas, not Marguerite, not the old woman; I was completely alone. Normally, that might not have been such a bad thing, but in this case, I didn't know this house; the Bakers did, and that meant that they could be hiding anywhere.

"Hey, you!"

I let out a small yell of surprise as the cop at the window spoke up; I hadn't expected him to be so abrupt. Still, he was a welcome sight after the crazy assholes living here.

I hurried over to the window. The cop was young; African, and serious looking. "Hey, you gotta get me out of here. I'm being held here against my will."

The cop held up a hand; the other hand was currently holding a flashlight. "Hold on there, buddy. How about you tell me what you're doing here."

"I'm being held here against my will," I said. "There are crazy people in this house trying to fucking kill me!"

"Okay, now hold on there, sir. You don't sound like you're playing with a full deck yourself at the moment." Who the hell did this guy think he was? I was practically kidnapped, and he was saying that _I_ was the crazy one here? "Now listen, we've gotten reports over the past couple of years about some missing people and I can't rule out that someone like you isn't involved."

"My God, man, you are a fucking idiot," I growled. "I'm one of those missing people! Or did you miss the part where I said I was being held here against my will?" I showed him my left hand, making sure that he could see the staples. "Does this look like something I would do to myself? If you don't get me out of here right now, chances are I am going to fucking die here!"

The cop rolled his eyes. "Meet me in the garage. We'll talk there." He turned to leave.

"Wait!" He turned back to me. "Give me your gun."

"What? You _must_ be crazy."

"Look, Officer –"

"Deputy."

"Deputy. Look, do you want to see my name in the obituaries, or do you want to do your job, and save a life?" The deputy just looked at me for a moment, studying me. It was clear he thought I really was nuts, but then again, I'd also appealed to his creed to serve and protect, so maybe that would win him over?

The deputy reached down to his service belt –

And passed a pocket knife through the window.

"Seriously?"

"It's all you get," he said. "Now take it or leave it." I reached out and took the knife; I guess it really was better than nothing. "Now meet me in the garage." He turned and disappeared around the corner.

I unfolded the blade from the handle as I walked down the stairs to the garage. Now that I had a knife, I could cut the tape holding the box shut, and press the button, raising the shutter. Maybe this knife would be useful after all. Hell, I supposed, I could use it against the Bakers if I had to.

I waited as the shutter slid upwards, opening into the garage. As it opened, I caught a glimpse of my car; Jack or Lucas must have brought it here while I was unconscious.

The deputy stepped through the main garage door. I could see the flashing red and blue lights of his cruiser outside as he stepped towards me.

"We've got to get out of here," I said.

"Not until you tell me what you're doing out here alone in the middle of the night," the deputy snapped.

"I already did!" I yelled. I was about to say something else, when I noticed the garage door starting to lower. "Is that supposed to do that?"

The deputy turned to the garage door, just as it finished closing. "Open that back up," he said, turning back to me.

"I didn't close it," I said. "I didn't – LOOK OUT!"

Too late; Jack, coming up from behind the deputy, took the top half of his head off with his shovel.

I watched, helpless, as the deputy's now half-decapitated body fell to the floor, Jack continuing to hack at it with the scoop of his shovel. That was when I noticed the deputy's pistol lying on the floor. I picked it up, flicked the safety off, and chambered a around.

Jack turned to face me. "You ain't going nowhere, boy."

I raised the gun, aiming at Jack's face. "Guess again." I pulled the trigger, putting a bullet right between Jack's eyes. His head snapped back –

He remained on his feet, and he leaned his head forward, his eyes shining with a sort of…I can't even describe it. The closest I can say is, it was like someone who was excited. That toothy grin certainly helped with that aspect.

"Ooh, this is gonna be juicy."

I backed away from Jack, putting two bullets into his heart, but they didn't slow him down; he kept coming.

When he was close enough, he raised his shovel. I just barely managed to move out of the way as he brought it down, smashing through the shelf I had been back up against. Screwdrivers, wrenches, a drill, and a bunch of screws fell onto the floor –

As did my car keys.

I picked up my keys and hurried over to the car, turning around and firing another shot at Jack, this one catching him in the throat. He coughed; the cough quickly turned into a laugh.

"Bullets ain't gonna help you much, boy."

Just what the fuck was he?

I pushed that thought aside – it could wait till later – as I opened the car door and climbed in, making sure to lock the doors. I put the key in the ignition and started the car, putting it in drive.

Jack was right in front of me, waving me on, daring me to run him over.

That was exactly what I did, the front bumper slamming into him. I backed up, and ran him over again. This time, I felt my back tire stop on his head. Holding one foot down on the brake pedal, I pressed down on the accelerator, smelling the burning rubber and flesh.

A few seconds later, the car was back on the pavement. I put it in park and took several deep breaths, trying to calm down. Just out of curiosity, I looked at the codex; as expected, my heart rate was spiking. Well, of course it was; the adrenaline was pumping through my body. Trying to calm myself down, I leaned my head back against the headrest of the driver's seat.

That relaxation didn't last long; I screamed as Jack ripped the passenger door off its hinges and climbed into the car with me.

"Nice car, Ethan," he said. "Grand Am? 1987? Good year." He grabbed the steering wheel, reached his foot over, and pressed it down on the accelerator.

I pulled against the steering wheel, trying to rip it from Jack's grasp as I tried to press down on the brake pedal. Jack refused to let me do that, using his knee to push my leg away as he put the accelerator to the floor.

I saw where we were going – a set of steel I-beams was resting on a table, one of them positioned so that when the car hit, I would get impaled. There was no way I was going to let that happen; I pulled against the steering wheel as hard as I could, finally wrenching it from Jack's grasp as we sped towards the metal killers –

Glass shattered, spraying everywhere, as did blood and splinters of bone, as Jack's head was skewered by the I-beam.

I opened my door and fell out onto the hard concrete floor. Keeping my eyes on what was left of Jack, I reached into the car and picked the gun up off the floor. I was certain that that I-beam through his face would keep Jack down, but seriously, what the hell was he if he could tank four gunshot wounds and a car running him over and walk away?

Keeping the gun trained on Jack, just in case, I slowly made my way over to the deputy's body, removing the two clips from his service belt and putting them into my pocket.

"Sorry, buddy. I'll let the police department know you're out here." I stood up and looked at the garage door; it was still shut, and the switch was….Where was it? I couldn't tell? I examined the wall behind me; nothing. I examined the wall next to the main door; nothing. Where the hell was that switch?

I guess I had no choice but to go through the main hall, just as Zoe said. But she also said I'd need three keys, but she didn't know where they were. Wonderful, I thought, a god damn scavenger hunt.

I spotted a ladder leading to a loft; my way out. I walked over to the ladder –

Stopping only when Jack grabbed my arm!

Somehow, he was still alive, a hole in his face from where the I-beam had hit him! I didn't even hear or see him pry himself loose! More importantly, _how the FUCK was he alive?!_

The arm Jack had grabbed was the one holding the gun; my right arm. He bent my arm, putting the barrel of the gun under his chin.

"You wanna see something really cool?" he asked. He put the barrel in his mouth, and made me pull the trigger.

"Fuck!" I cried as the bullet blew out half of Jack's head. I watched as he collapsed to the floor, blood pouring out of the wound, chunks of his brain and his cranium splattered against the wall.

I bent over, and heaved, spilling my insides for the second time.

When there was nothing left to purge, I began to climb the ladder.


	4. Four

FOUR

THE HALLWAY WAS EERILY QUIET. NO SIGN OF ANYONE, OR ANYTHING. THE only sound I heard was my own erratic breathing and my heart pounding in my chest. I was in a heightened state of panic; Marguerite and Lucas could be anywhere, just waiting to jump me.

I followed the hall down another right turn. At the end was a window, though I could just barely make it out with everything that was piled up in front of it – couches, chairs, dressers, night stands, I think I saw a bike. On my right was a little table with some photos – one showing Jack and Marguerite, and one showing Lucas. Jack and Marguerite looked like a normal husband and wife; Lucas, on the other hand, made me feel like I just wanted to slam his head through a wall.

On my left was a large metal door; engraved in the door was an image of a gold ox, the carving set into a recess on the door. I turned the handle; it was fortunately unlocked.

The door opened into what I could only guess was the main hall. Directly in front of me was a small table covered with old books, a moldy piece of toast, and a broken fan, its blade lazily spinning around. There were two staircases leading to a second level. To my right was a small room that, I noticed as I walked towards it, was decorated with only one gold statue holding a double barreled shotgun – that could be useful. There was another little room just beyond one of the staircases, a light projector occupying it. As I walked closer to the table in the middle of the room, I could smell the mold on the burnt piece of toast and the musty old beer in the empty bottles.

To my left was a door. As I stepped closer to it, I could see the engraving of a three-headed dog, its heads missing.

Great. Maybe those were the keys Zoe was talking about?

The phone rang. I picked it up.

"Did my dad give you a hard time?"

"Zoe, right? I'm sorry, but he – he's dead. He shot himself in the head."

Zoe sighed. "No use crying over spilled milk. You need to find those keys, Ethan. Good luck." The line went dead.

I put the phone back on the holder and looked at the door again. Why on earth would a backwoods Louisiana mansion have a door with such a locking mechanism? Yet another thing that just didn't make sense. What, was this house designed by some kind of nut?

Leaving the door, I made my way to the small room with the shotgun. The gold statue was sitting atop a pedestal. Slowly, I reached out and plucked the shotgun from its hands; checked to see if it was loaded. No shells.

I turned to the door when I heard it click shut. I grabbed the handle and tried to pull it open; the door had locked itself.

It was then that I noticed that, by taking the shotgun, the statue had raised slightly.

Fearing that this was some sort of elaborate trap that was only going to get worse, I quickly replaced the shotgun. The statue fell back into place, and the door swung open behind me. Hurrying out of the room, I took a moment to breathe a sigh of relief. Nothing malicious there, thank God.

I figured I should probably check the second level. I began to climb the stairs, taking them slow; there was no way of knowing what was waiting for me up there.

I pulled out the pistol and aimed it at the figure sitting near the door. It was the elderly, wheelchair bound woman, Grandma Baker. How had she gotten up here? Did Lucas or Marguerite bring her up here?

I lowered the gun, realizing who it was and that she was harmless. She was an old woman, an invalid – what could she possibly do besides just look at me?

Maybe she knew where the keys were. I walked over to her, kneeling down when I was close enough so I could be at eye level with her.

"Do you know where the keys to the door are?" I asked her. "It looks like I need three dog heads. Do you know where Jack and Marguerite hid them?" The old woman gave no answer.

Leaving her, I opened the door on my left and stepped into a well lit hallway. The first thing I noticed was a stand with a football helmet sitting atop it, the letters LSU printed onto it. Someone had played for the local college football team, it seemed. Maybe it was Jack. Next to the football helmet was a picture of what looked like Jack in a military uniform. Printed on the back of the picture frame was "Jack Baker 1980, USMC".

So Jack was a Marine, then.

Close by was a white door, an image of a snake engraved on the wood. I grabbed the handle; it refused to budge. Something told me I needed a special key for this door, but right now, that was not my priority. Once I found those three dog heads, I was free to get the fuck out of this nightmare.

But what if one of the heads was in that room? Then I would have no choice but to look for that key.

Continuing through the hallway, I found an unlocked door leading into what looked like a recreation room, given the pinball machine and billiard table in the room. The table was covered with old jackets and jeans, and sitting on the edge of the table, next to one of the holes the balls would fall into, was another GoPro camera. I dreaded to see what was on this one; for all I knew, it was what had happened to the surviving members of the film crew.

Picking it up, I found the playback feature. Again, there was only one video archived.

########################################

Mia Winters had no memory before the Baker family found her in the bayou. The only thing she remembered was that she had been found near a ship, which had run aground near an old oil tanker. The patriarch, Jack Baker, had found her and brought her to the plantation, offering her the chance to clean up and get some food.

She had been grateful, at first.

But then she noticed the strange things that were going on between the three Bakers – Jack, his wife Marguerite, and their son Lucas. Lucas especially would not stop staring at her like some animal; she hadn't even wanted to think about what he had in mind.

For the first few days, things had gone well, but then Jack and Marguerite seemed to change. Mia noticed that they only seemed to eat the same kind of meat at every meal, and she soon came to realize that that meat was what was left of the human body.

The Bakers were cannibals.

Mia had managed to get away, grabbing a GoPro so she could record a message for her husband, Ethan, just in case she couldn't get away; she would at least try to send it off to him. It fit nicely over an old piece of cloth that she used to strap it to her head.

Marguerite had chased her to an old house over the water. It seemed like the older woman knew where Mia was no matter where she went. Every time she found a hiding place, Marguerite was not far behind.

Mia was now hiding behind a turned over table, watching through the cracks in the wood as Marguerite swept the room with her lantern, looking or Mia. Mia held her breath, hoping Marguerite wouldn't hear her, though that didn't stop her heart from pounding in her chest.

There was something behind her – a hole in the floor, leading to a crawlspace. Slowly, quietly, Mia slipped into the hole, hoping Marguerite wouldn't see.

Mia trudged as fast as she could, fearing that running would make Marguerite hear her. She stepped over a fallen rake, around an old lawnmower, and found a door leading to…she had no idea where it led.

All she knew was that it was shut, and it refused to budge.

It didn't matter right now; all that mattered was that she was away from Marguerite. She closed her eyes and turned around, leaning against the cool wood of the door, trying to catch her breath.

She heard a noise.

She slowly opened her eyes.

Marguerite was right in front of her!

"Where do you think you're going, missy?"

Mia screamed as she was dragged away, the camera falling away from her as Marguerite dragged her out of the crawlspace by her feet.

#####################################

I dropped the camera. Mia had tried to escape before I found her!

Sadly, I knew how that turned out. After all, I was the one who killed her.

Leaving the camera behind, I scanned the room, hoping to find one of those keys. Nothing. Not even a set of keys for a car. Though I did find a backpack; that could be useful. Underneath the backpack was a stone dog head, a blue one. I quickly scooped it up and put it into the backpack.

Slipping the backpack onto my shoulders, I turned and left the room, going back into the hallway. The next room I checked was a bathroom. The moment I opened the door, I was blasted by the smell of mold and mildew. I gagged, trying not to breathe in the foul smell as I stepped into the room. The foul smell was coming from the bathtub, filled with black, disgusting water. I pulled on the chain, removing the plug and draining the disgusting liquid, leaving behind mounds and mounds of the blackest, most disgusting mold I'd ever seen, as well as some weird wooden carving. Normally, I would have left something like that be, but given that I still had to find those keys, it might have been something that could help me do that. So I pulled it out of the tub, flicking the mold off of it, and slipped it into the backpack.

I looked up when the door opened –

And gasped as Jack Baker walked into the room, the blown off half of his head pulsating and regrowing – the brain, the skull, the muscle, the skin, the hair; all of it seemed to regrow back into its rightful place.

"What – how –?"

"Heck of a thing, ain't it?" he asked in an almost friendly conversational tone. "Sure beats the shit outta dying."

I raised the gun and pulled the trigger. A hole appeared in Jack's face, right in his nose. I watched in shock and horror as his nose regrew, the sinew and cartilage reforming.

"I survived blowing my own brains out. You think losing a nose is gonna help you, Ethan?"

I looked around for something else I could use, something that could help me put him down without getting hurt by that rake he was carrying. There was nothing; just the gun in my hand.

Jack got ready to attack, ready to stab me with the rake's forks. I barely managed to move out of the way, one of the pokers ripping into my shirt. I grabbed the rake and, after wrestling with Jack for a moment, managed to push him back against the wall. I slammed him up against the wall, shattering the mirror into the back of his head as I did; this caused him to lose his grip on the rake.

I wasted no time, and before Jack could react, I plunged the rake deep into his face, the forks piercing the entire way through his skull. I heard them cut through bone and brain before sticking into the wall; even if Jack could somehow regenerate – however the hell that worked – he'd still be nailed to the tiles lining the room.

I took a moment to catch my breath, my chest heaving. I was starting to become real tired of this shit.

I checked the contents of my backpack; the dog head and the wooden sculpture were still there. Not sure what I was expecting; Jack never got behind me, so of course he wouldn't have been able to take them from me.

Leaving him stuck to the wall, I left the room. Following the hallway to the left, I found myself on a balcony overlooking what looked like a courtyard. There was some kind of barn, and not far from it, a camper trailer. Maybe Zoe was in there with some kind of computer, watching me through this thing on my wrist.

I checked the balcony; all that was here was some more junk – a bunch of broken dressers, some football bobbleheads, and an empty steel box.

I took a deep breath; sure, the air smelled like swamp, but man did that breeze feel good after being in that stuffy mansion for so long!

Of course, I couldn't stay out here for too long; I had things to do, like find the rest of these dog heads. I walked down the balcony, passing a boarded up window; I couldn't see inside, but from what I could gather, that was the recreation room I had been in earlier.

I found another door leading back inside and went back out into the main hall. The first thing I checked for was the old woman.

She was gone.

Okay, yeah, she was harmless, but that didn't mean she wasn't just as weird as the rest of the family.

There was another door up here, one I hadn't checked. Like the locked room in the hall I had just left, it had a carving of a snake on the door. No point trying to open it; I knew it was locked. So back down the stairs I went.

I walked over to the door and inserted the dog head. It fit nicely into the middle slot. One down, two to go. I just had to find out where those other two were.

I opened the grandfather clock next to a door etched with a scorpion – the door was locked; I checked – and pulled open the little door. There on the bottom, right under the pendulum, was a white dog head.

That was easy, I thought as I picked the head up and carried it over to the door, slipping it into the slot just above the blue dog head.

Now where the hell was that last one?

I looked in the room with the light projector, spotting a picture on the wall, an eagle swooping down at a dog. I'd heard of these kinds of pictures; they used different items to form what were essentially shadow puppets. Considering the door I was trying to open, maybe – as absurd as it sounded – it was part of some kind of locking mechanism.

I removed the wooden sculpture from the backpack and held it up to the light, twisting and turning it until it formed the shape of the eagle.

Something clicked, and the wall the picture was hanging on slid open, revealing a narrow passageway.

It had just been a shot in the dark; I hadn't actually expected a door to open. Seriously, who builds shit like this?

I continually asked myself as I squeezed my way through the narrow passageway, ending up in what I can only describe as a man-cave. The first thing I saw as I stepped out of the passageway was the stuffed deer, staring blankly at the refrigerator. The door to the fridge was hanging open, showing me a pizza box filled with moldy pizza and some old beer bottles. Some beer bottles were on the little coffee table next to the reclining chair. The television was on, but all that was on screen was lines of static.

I looked in the fridge, looked in some drawers, trying to find that last dog head. No sign of it. I opened every drawer, finding only some wash cloths, drink coasters, silverware, some plates and bowls. None of those things looked like a dog's head.

That was when I spotted the door next to the bathroom. It led me into yet another little storage room, the shelves filled with stacks of old VHS tapes – mostly pornography – as well as various gun and sex magazines. The little white board next to the wall had a drawing that looked like it was made by a little kid, a small stick figure family next to a box that was supposed to be a house.

I won't lie, it was kind of cute.

What wasn't cute was what was waiting for me on the other side of the other door.

It was a small computer room, with absolutely no light, and covered in more of the black mold I had seen in the upstairs bathroom. I tried to ignore the disgusting black substance as I made my way to the next door.

Something moved. I quickly raised the gun, aiming it at the thing moving inside the mold.

I watched in horror as something climbed out of the mold. It….I don't know what the hell I was looking at! It was tall, much taller than me, with long, lanky arms and legs. Its body was comprised of nothing but black mold, save for the sharp claws at the ends of its arms and the yellowed, weathered teeth in what looked like some kind of mouth – so much teeth! And they were so sharp! I didn't even want to think about what kind of damage they would do to the human body. The way the thing moved…it was almost like its body had no skeleton to speak of. It twitched and twisted its limbs as it walked towards me, snarling and hissing.

Fear took me over, freezing me, rooting me to the spot. I couldn't even be bothered to pull the trigger; I was so scared by the monstrosity, by the abomination standing in front of me, walking towards me. The thing's body continued to jerk as it moved towards me.

It was now or never. I took aim at the thing's chest and pulled the trigger.

Mold sprayed everywhere as the bullet impacted the creature's spongy hide, but it kept coming towards me. I backed up, bumping into one of the computer stands, and pulled the trigger again.

This time, the bullet found its mark in the creature's mouth, shattering several of the knife-like teeth. Still, it continued to move. So I aimed at its head and pulled the trigger.

That single, solitary click of an empty gun was the loudest sound I'd ever heard. I quickly ejected the clip and fumbled to pull a fresh one from my pocket.

The monster was close enough now that I could smell the mold wafting off of its body. It raised an arm. Swung at me.

I moved out of the way, diving to the floor. The monster's claws only succeeded in destroying the computer stand.

I managed to pull a fresh clip from my pocket and insert it into the gun. I chambered a round, took aim at the center of the creature's head, and pulled the trigger. The bullet tore through the creature's head, splattering mold against the far wall. The monster let out one last shriek before collapsing. I backed away, trying to stay out of reach of its deadly claws as it writhed in pain and agony –

Before it finally fell limp.

I stared down at the abomination, my eyes wide with horror. What the _FUCK_ did I just kill?!


	5. Five

FIVE

I STOOD AT THE TOP OF THE STAIRS LEADING DOWN TO WHAT I COULD ONLY assume was a basement. After the experience I had in the computer room, I was even more wary now than I had been when it was just the Bakers I had to deal with. When I left the computer room, I made sure to shut the door behind me, just in case any more of those monsters decided to come out of the mold.

I gripped the pistol in my hand as I stood at the top of the stairs, trying to force myself to go down. You know that feeling you get with the butterflies in your stomach, when you want to do something but you're so scared you can't? That's how I was feeling right now, standing here, looking down at that closed door, with God knew what waiting for me on the other side.

Steeling my nerves as best I could, and taking a deep breath to calm myself down and slow the beating heart in my chest, I began to descend into the darkness.

Darkness was right; the basement was covered with black mold. I froze in place, watching the sticky substance, praying that no monsters climbed out of it. So far, nothing, at least, nothing that I could see, even with the very dim light coming from the walls.

Slowly, I began to walk.

The mold crunched beneath my shoes as I stepped over it. It sounded disgusting. If you've never had to deal with mold before, let me tell you that it is one of the grossest substances on the planet. And now, after what had happened just a little bit ago, I had an even greater reason to hate the stuff.

I found a door marked "Workshop", a rusted metal door that was locked from the other side. So many locked doors, and with no way to open them, I had no idea what was on the other side. Maybe the key I was looking for, or just another empty room.

I quickly turned when I heard something behind me. My gun raised, I scanned the hallway. There was nothing, human or monster. I lowered the gun, letting out the breath I'd been holding, and started walking.

The door on my right was marked "Incinerator Room", and it was unlocked. Slowly, I pushed the door open. I wasn't sure what was waiting for me in there – another mold monster, Marguerite, Lucas….It could have been any number of things, and as I stepped through the threshold, I could feel my heart leap into my throat, heard my blood flowing in my ears.

I let out a sigh of relief when I saw that there was, well, nothing, in the room. All there was, outside of the four incinerators lining the wall, was a table, covered with a weathered tarp. I blinked a few times, letting my eyes adjust to the dim light as I looked around for anything of substance. Maybe there was a map, or another weapon. But there was nothing I could use; sure, there was that saw, but it was so rusted that I doubted I could pick it up without the blade breaking off.

Then again, there were those incinerators. There were five in total, each one stamped with a name – Travis, Shauna, William, Taylor, and Adam. The one marked "William" also had a red handprint on the door, though I couldn't tell if it was made out of blood or paint. Slowly, I reached for the handle on the door; wrapped my fingers around the handle; pulled the door open.

The incinerator was empty, save for the tray that extended from the chamber. The same was true for the ones marked Shauna, Taylor, and Adam.

That just left the one on the far left – Travis. I pulled on the door; it refused to budge. I pulled harder; it still wouldn't move. Maybe it was locked, or maybe there was some trick to it that I hadn't learned. Then again, I had never been in a crematory before – I don't think anyone wants to go there when they're alive – so I didn't really know for sure. Maybe if I closed one of the other doors, this one would open.

I didn't know exactly why I was so fixated on seeing what was in this last door. But something inside me was telling me that there was something in there, something that could be helpful. Maybe that last dog head. Call it a hunch.

I closed the door marked Shauna. Steam hissed from Travis's incinerator, and the door opened slightly. I waited a moment for the steam to die down before grabbing the handle – hot steam could burn you much worse than hot water, after all – and pulled the door open –

Leaping back in shock as another mold monster reached out of the incinerator to try and grab me! Its sharp claws came within mere inches of slicing into my skin. I pulled the gun out of the back of my belt, aimed, flipped the safety off, and pulled the trigger. The bullet impacted the soft mold of the creature's head. It hissed in annoyance as it fell off the incinerator tray, landing on the concrete floor with a soft plop.

I aimed and pulled the trigger, hoping to shoot the thing before it climbed to its feet.

Let me tell you, nothing is louder than the click of an empty handgun clip.

I ejected the clip; it clanged loudly to the floor. Keeping my eyes on the monster as it climbed clumsily to its feet, I reached into my pocket and pulled out another clip, putting it into the gun and chambering a round. The second I heard the round slide home, I put two bullets into the thing's head. It exploded in an explosion of gore, splattering against the wall.

You would think I would have to fight to hold down my puke, but I didn't. I didn't feel anything coming up. I guess I had gotten so used to sights like this that it didn't bother me anymore.

To be honest, I didn't like that.

This was not the kind of situation a normal person should ever be in. This sort of thing should not be happening. I felt like I had stepped into one of those incidents I had heard about a long time ago, when I was a little kid. I remember hearing stories about a city in Pennsylvania being wiped out by a plague that killed almost everyone who lived there, and then there was the incident a few years ago in China with those bio-terrorists. These mold monsters didn't look too far off from what I imagine had been involved in those particular incidents.

I'm sorry, I got off track.

There was something else in the incinerator, a key. Attached to the key was a tab marked "Dissection Room". It seemed important, so I pocketed it. Maybe the other dog head was in there.

There was nothing left in this room, so I left and continued down the hall, keeping my eyes on the mold lining the walls. My grip tightened on the gun, and no, I didn't bother putting the safety on. The last thing I wanted was to be surprised by another of those things surprising me. I'd had enough surprises since coming to this hell house.

I opened a wooden door, which led into a bathroom. At least, I thought it was a bathroom – I couldn't tell for sure, since the entire room was covered in mold. There was so much of the stuff that the walls, tub, sink, and toilet may not have even been there. A large pillar of mold was in the center of the room. But if this way led to the dissection room, then I had to pass through this room. I had to brave the mold.

My shoes slipped on the mold as I stepped into the room. It squished beneath my feet as I stepped over it. I made my way to the light coming from the other end of the room, which I hoped led me to where I wanted to go.

I stopped when I heard that ungodly growl, and two more mold monsters came around the corner. They growled and hissed as they limped and shuffled their way towards me. I raised the gun and fired. Three bullets went into one mold monster, making its head explode. The other one took two, dropping it. I stood where I was, watching their corpses, waiting for them to get back up.

They never moved.

Slowly, I moved past the dead monsters and into what looked like a furnace room. I could feel the heat radiating off of the furnaces as I stepped into the room and looked around. No sign of any mold, but that didn't mean that those creatures couldn't be in here. I walked around the closest furnace, checking to make sure that I was really alone in here. Though I did see something that caught my interest.

The door to the dissection room. The key fit perfectly in the lock.

With the door unlocked, I slowly turned the handle and pushed it open, the gun leading the way. There was a shelf right in front of me, separating me from what looked like the true dissection room. Hanging on the wall was the mutilated corpse of the deputy from earlier, now covered in mold. I felt so sorry for him, so sorry for the family he left behind and may never know how or why he was killed.

I never even got his name, so I doubted I could find his family and give them the bad news.

But as depressing as that was, it didn't matter at the moment. What mattered was finding that last dog head key, and what do you know, it was lying right on that shelf.

Things were finally looking up.

I reached for the key.

A hand grabbed the key, moving it out of my reach. I ducked down, hiding behind some of the boxes on the lower shelf as Jack Baker started to speak.

"That little bastard thinks he can just show up and take my place," he grumbled. "But I'll show him. I'll show him that there's room for only one patriarch in this family. And you, my friend, are gonna help me do that." I heard another door open and close as Jack left the room.

I let out a sigh of relief and stood up. Jack had that last key.

And somehow, I had to get it from him.

My first step was down the set of stairs to my left. Rounding the corner after stepping off the last step, I pushed open a rusted door, finding myself in what I could only describe as some sadistic torture chamber – there were large meat hooks in the room beyond the barred wall, and three of them were currently occupied with man sized bags that looked like they were filled. I didn't even want to think about the poor people who ended up in this room.

There was another set of stairs to my right. I followed them up and onto a balcony overlooking the room.

And directly in front of me, wrapped in barbed wire, was the dog head. Slowly, I reached out for the dog head and unwrapped the wire from around it.

The head fell from my hand, but it wasn't because I lost my grip – I felt a hard boot to the center of my back, sending me falling into the room below. A second later, I heard Jack's voice.

"You ain't getting away, boy."

I rolled over onto my back, handgun at the ready, and put two rounds into Jack – one in his chest and one in his head. He stumbled, but didn't fall; he raised his axe and got ready to bring it down.

I quickly rolled out of the way, the axe hitting the floor where I had been. After putting a bullet into Jack's shin, I climbed to my feet and threw one of the body bags at Jack, stunning him, allowing me to shoot him two more times.

"You wanna play that kind of game, Ethan?" Jack asked. He moved over to a fenced off section of the room. I just now noticed that, buried in the rotted corpse of the cow on the table, were two chainsaws, and Jack was now holding one, revving it up. Could it even have been counted as a chainsaw? The blade was scissored, like shears. "Groovy."

"That is not groovy!" I shouted as I ran for the other chainsaw; pulled it out of the cow; revved it up. I barely had enough time to turn and dig the blade of the now running chainsaw into Jack's face; the blade of his own chainsaw was just inches from my torso, the chain threatening to eviscerate me.

Something grew out of the wound – a large, festering boil that looked like it was filled with organs and bones and pushed Jack's head down into his shoulder. It was disgusting; so disgusting I didn't want to even look at it, but I dug the blade of the chainsaw into the festering boil.

A few seconds later, the boil exploded in a shower of blood and bone –

And Jack's entire top half blew up along with it! All that was left of Jack Baker were his legs, which collapsed to the floor.

"And this time," I said as I dropped the chainsaw and picked up the dog head, "stay fucking dead."


	6. Six

SIX

THE DOG HEADS SLIPPED INTO THE RECESSES IN THE DOOR. IT WAS PRETTY easy to figure out which head fit into which niche – the heads and the slots in the door were the same shape as each other. With the dogs in the door, I heard a solid _click_ , and the door slid open.

I turned to look at the master hall again. A smaller room at the end of the hall caught my attention. Moving closer, I saw a gold statue holding a shotgun. Slowly, I reached out. I didn't know what would happen if I so much as touched the shotgun. Would the statue shoot acid at me? Would the door shut, locking me in? What would happen if I went for the weapon?

All these thoughts went through my head within the span of a few seconds. The handgun was useful, to a certain extent, but I was sure that the shotgun would be a much better option – assuming I could find bullets for it.

Slowly, I reached out for the shotgun; grasped it; removed it from the statue's hands.

Nothing happened.

I let out that breath I'd been holding and checked the shotgun. It was empty.

Beneath the statue was a small drawer. I opened it, finding a small box of shotgun shells. Perfect! I loaded the shotgun – it could only hold four shells – and pocketed the rest. I could feel a small weight lifted off my shoulder, but I could also feel the weight of the shotgun. I've never held an actual shotgun before – just a toy airsoft gun when I was a kid – so I was surprised at how heavy it was. Still, I knew that this thing would be more helpful than the pistol, which I'd stuffed into my belt before grabbing the shotgun, and yes, the safety was on; I wouldn't have put it in my belt with the safety off, because, well, I don't feel like getting a bullet in my leg.

Now I know what you're thinking: "Ethan, your hand was cut off and reattached with staples and it's like you never lost the limb to begin with. Why are you worried about getting a bullet in your leg?" Yes, well, getting my hand chopped off with a chainsaw still hurt like hell. I don't know how the bones, muscle, and nerves reattached, but that didn't matter; I didn't want to end up dying from accidental bullshit.

Shotgun in hand, I headed for the exit, pumping the gun and chambering a round.

I stepped outside. It felt good to be outside that house. Sure, the air was humid and still smelled like the Louisiana bayou, but at least I could find some safe haven while I tried to get the hell out of here. As I stopped to take a deep breath, I looked around. Far to my right was an iron gate; I didn't know where it led, but I also didn't care, since I was sure I wouldn't be going down there. To my far left was another shack brightly lit by what looked like Christmas lights.

And directly in front of me was a camper. That was where I was going to go first.

The door was unlocked. As I pushed the door open and stepped inside, I noticed just how much more…inviting this place was than the main house – hell, even the guest house. I set the handgun on the counter and sat down at the small kitchen table, glad to finally be off my feet, even if it was only going to be for a few moments.

My mind was swimming with so many thoughts. How had all this happened? What was wrong with the Bakers? Whatever was affecting them, did it get hold of Mia as well? What the hell were those monsters? And again, how the hell could my hand heal itself like that with just a few surgical staples?

And then there was that girl Zoe. She had said that Jack Baker was her father, so she was a Baker too, but from her phone calls, she sounded…different. She didn't sound insane, didn't sound like a complete fucking nutjob. So what was she? Was she someone I could trust?

Well, I supposed I had to. Since she actually sounded sane, she was the only one I _could_ trust.

Just then, the phone rang. I'll admit, I let out a small scream; it caught me off guard, I was so caught up with my own thoughts. The phone rang a few times before I picked it up.

"You made it."

It was Zoe.

"Okay, I'm out. So, you want to finally tell me what the hell is going on?" I asked. I didn't mean to sound so…snippy…but going the past couple of hours with no answers was starting to piss me off, even if I didn't want to admit it to myself at the time.

"This might sound crazy," Zoe said.

"No crazier than your hand healing itself with just a few staples or someone's head growing back after eating a bullet," I shot back.

"I guess you're right," Zoe said. She sighed. "Our bodies are contaminated. Have you seen all that mold around the house?"

"Have I seen it? There are fucking monsters coming out of it!"

"Well, that mold is in our bodies," Zoe continued. "We're all contaminated. You, me, Mom, Dad, Lucas, Mia. We can't leave the plantation grounds with all that mold in our bodies."

"I guess you wouldn't want it to get everywhere else," I mused aloud. "So, how do we get it out?"

"We need a special serum."

"Do you have it? Where can we meet?"

"I don't have it, Ethan. We have to make it. You'll find the ingredients at the old house, but watch out for my mother."

The line went dead.

Well, that's just great, I thought. So much for simply leaving. Well, if that was what it took to get out of here, then fine, I would play along.

But before I left, I decided to search the refrigerator. There had to be something in here for me to drink.

#############################

The old house was just across the waterway, and if I thought the mansion looked dilapidated in places, well….Let's just say that I could see why they called this the "old house". This thing was sitting in the water on stilts made of tree trunks, and they looked like they were withered and old, and the house itself was falling apart. As I stepped through the double doors, I saw part of the floor to my left was gone, having rotten away and fallen into the water some time ago. The windows were cracked and shattered, and through the door to my right I could hear the buzzing of insects.

With those mold men in the house still fresh in my mind, I didn't even want to think about what kind of bugs were waiting for me behind that door.

I rounded the corner on my left and went through the door, coming into another, smaller room, which looked even smaller thanks to the massive insect hive built onto the wall. Well, whether I liked it or not, I was looking at the bugs I had heard a moment ago. For the moment they seemed to ignore me, so I continued, moving slowly so I didn't disturb the nest.

The next door took me into a hallway, with one door leading outside. There wasn't much out here, save for the garbage, but something caught my eye. It was long, made of metal, and when I picked it up, I saw it for what it really was – a makeshift flamethrower; an aerosol can fitted into a metal casing attached to a blowtorch.

This could come in handy for those bugs.

I took a quick look around; there was nothing else of use, so I headed back inside. With my new tool in hand, I decided to check what was behind the other door in that long hallway.

Another room, of course, covered in several insect hives; one nest led to a downstairs area, and it was blocking my path.

Nothing a quick burst of fire from a flamethrower couldn't fix.

With the nest burned away, I made my way downstairs, through the door, into a small storage area. To the right was a gate door leading to another hallway –

And standing behind that door was Mia.

"Ethan! Thank God you're alive."

"What about you?" I demanded. "I watched you die! I shot you in the head! What, are you like the Bakers? I want answers, Mia, and don't bullshit me on this!"

"I….I…." She stammered and stuttered. "I'm sorry. I can only remember a little bit; everything else is blank."

A hand appeared, covering her mouth, keeping her from talking any more.

A hand belonging to the now fully-healed Lucas Baker.

"Hey there," he said, like he was trying to make friendly conversation, but I could hear the sadism dripping in his voice. "We call you Daddy now, right? Hey, mind if I borrow Mommy for a little bit? Thanks."

"Hey!" I called after him, but it was too late; he had dragged Mia through another door and out of sight. "God damn it!" I pulled on the gate; it refused to budge.

There had to be another way around, or at least a way to unlock this door. There was a stone statue on the nearby table, but that wouldn't do me any good – at least, not down here. But upstairs, maybe; I had spotted one of those light lock gizmos, like the one back in the mansion.

I made my way back upstairs.

And then I heard Marguerite's voice.

"Where the hell are you?"

I stopped where I was, listening, my heart pounding in my chest. Was she looking for me? Or Mia? Or Lucas? Or maybe Jack? I had no way of knowing, and I didn't want to find out.

Slowly, I moved up the stairs and poked my head out of the little crawlspace where the insect hive had been earlier. I couldn't see her, but that didn't mean that she wasn't around. She knew this place so much better than I did; she knew where all the hiding spots were, so she could have been watching me right now and I wouldn't even have known.

But so far, nothing. I moved slowly, out of this room, back into the entry way, and into the hallway that led outside.

There she was, holding a small oil lamp, facing the other way.

I held my breath and pressed my back against the corner, hoping she wouldn't see me if she turned around. There was no telling what she would do to me if she saw me.

I sidled down the wall, away from the corner, as the light from her lamp got closer. She walked past me, keeping her eyes on the door, never turning in my direction, and walked into the other room. I was safe, for the moment.

I didn't want to waste any time. I rounded the corner and hurried as fast as I could to the outside area. When I got there, I hurried over to the light that was illuminating the picture of a spider attacking a rat, and lined up the statue with the picture. There was an audible click, and the wall swung open.

Were I in any other situation, I'd probably take the time to wonder just how a device like this worked, but at the moment, I didn't have that kind of time. I squeezed into the little walkway, ignoring the cockroaches that were crawling on the beams. It was a tight fit, so tight that I could barely fit, but I managed. I squeezed through, and when I left the corridor, I was in the part of the entryway that I couldn't reach earlier, the part separated from the doors by the collapsed floor.

There were some stairs leading to another room. Maybe there was a way to open that door in there, or maybe the person who had been calling me. Slowly, I started to climb the stairs. One way or another, I was going to get what I wanted out of that room.

Or that was the plan, had it not been for Marguerite, emerging from around the corner at the top of the stairs and pushing me down to the floor below. The floor caved in, sending me tumbling to the dirt and rocks that made up the foundation.

"You're going to die in that hole, and you're going to like it!" she yelled.

I looked down at the flamethrower; it had fallen from my hands when I fell. I wasn't sure if it would do me much good right now. So instead, I reached up and pulled the shotgun from the bag on my back, chambered a shell, took aim, and fired. Buckshot slammed into Marguerite's face, shredding the skin and muscle. I pumped the shotgun to reload, and fired again.

One more shell, and she fell into the hole. I reached down and grabbed the flamethrower, then climbed out of the hole – there was a little ladder built into the wall, probably from when the house was first built – and just in time, too. Because when I turned to look down, Marguerite was swarmed with thousands upon thousands of tiny insects.

Well, at least she'd be out of my hair now.


End file.
